I Am Rahab … The Island Gyal
By Silvanie
(Excerpt From Book 1)
Yes, The Grandmother, as Lotti and Mags lovingly referred to her, a short, sassy, white-haired woman who stood high on pride, had an evil streak. She was stubborn to a fault and only moved when the spirits moved her, but she wasn’t a troublemaker. In the 1930s and 40s, before its popularity with tourists, Voodoo and black magic was pushed into the darkness of the swamps. No matter where the family moved, their grandmother never met approval, especially amongst the church.
For as long as I can remember, certain terms have been very familiar to me. Although I remain largely immersed in the day to day of American culture, there is one culture that is even more familiar. I am at heart an Island girl. Caribbean culture, as well as the African influences that help define it, are as much a part of me as the blood coursing through my veins. Yet, there are parts of that culture that were not allowed; essentially forbidden practice in my family. Voodoo, Black Magic and Obeah, were amongst some of the terms met with avoidance. Yet, although the methods were not practiced, the superstitions surrounding such practices were understood and in many cases, respected.
“Stop whistling in the house after dark,” was one such superstition. This act would draw swift attention from my father. I remember asking him the reason why, but he would just say, “just don’t do it.” My father was always very protective and often spared me any news which he felt would disturb my childhood peace. It wasn’t until my 200th inquiry that he finally told me, “If you do so, it will invoke the spirit of the Jumbee; malevolent demons that come in the night”. Funny thing though, If I could borrow a term from my father’s West Indian tongue to best describe what I think about that now, I would say “RUBBISH!” Yet, the memories of childhood scream louder than I can ignore, and travel farther than I can distance, so… there’ll be no whistling in my house after dark. But of course, now I just refer to it as “nuisance noise.” Yeahhh, that’s it… nuisance noise.
No matter how far the journey of life takes us, there are memories and experiences that become hard-baked. Their flavors and essence still on our tongues well into adulthood. I’m thankful for the rich ingredients that formulated my “Me.” I’m proud of the wealth of culture and understanding it provided. I am who I am….because I am Rahab too.
